This poem, as they say, is inspired by real events but peppered (well peppered) with poetic licence. I wrote the poem for one of Kilkenny’s leading actors (and directors) Mary Craddock. Mary recited it in a seductive French accent wearing a short black mini-sat an event called ‘King of the Castle’.
Alice I’m called – most folks know my name
Dame Alice Kyteler, late of Low Lane
You think of me in a cape and tall hat
With a broomstick, cauldron and mischievous cat
Well honestly, folks, that’s a load of old thrash
For, I was a lady and cut quite a dash.
A witch they called me – good God what a shame
For really I didn’t deserve such a name
Oh, I dabbled in money and cast the odd spell
But is that any reason to condemn me to hell?
So, I had four husbands who “departed” from me
But really that’s not such a great mystery.
Yes, it’s high time, I think, to set the record straight
Regarding my past – before it’s too late.
The year was thirteen hundred I guess
And I was an innocent, single lass
Of French descent, intelligent, good-looking
To my door every man in Kilkenny came flocking
Well really I didn’t quite know what to do
So, like any girl would, I dated a few.
Now William Outlaw he quite took my fancy
Richest man in the city, a Banker, Financier
Well William and I we strolled down the aisle
Oh, I was so happy with my sweet, bridal smile,
But things didn’t work out – I have to admit
For William, you see, was a terrible twit
All he could think of was money and gold
And into the bargain he was feeble and old
And that’s not all, just to make matters worse
He was thrifty and mean and held on to the purse
So, I turned sweet William into five, crisp pound notes
And spent my dear husband on some new petticoats!
The next fellow I met was really quite dashing
A French man called Le Blound – ooh he was smashing
He asked if I would and I said: “I do”
But very soon after things began to fall through
Le Blound, you see, was simply a bore
And to add to my troubles – all he did was snore
A decent night’s sleep I never once got
With his snorting and snuffling and God knows what
Well I got to wondering what can I do?
So I turned him into an Irish stew!
Indeed I offloaded him that very same day
As an early-bird special with a tasty soufflé
My next encounter was with a gent called De Valle
Who I married as he was my “bosom pal”
But a fortnight after the wedding, I think,
My pal, De Valle, really took to the drink
Boozing, carousing, out every night
Well honestly, girls, it just wasn’t right
Said I to myself: “I’ll just have to stop it”
I turned him into a frog and boy did he hop it!
John Le Poer became husband the fourth
God he was sweet, he was really a dote
But too sweet to be wholesome – as every girl
Put John’s poor head in a terrible whirl
So, seeing how he fancied the birds so much
I gave him his very own cage and perch
I turned him into a budgie, you see
Which fairly kept him under lock and key!
Well naturally rumours began to go round
And next thing I knew it’s the Bishop I found
Standing below there in Kyteler’s Inn
Loudly accusing me of: “grave mortal sin”.
Said he to me: “Woman, make no mistake
But for these crimes you’ll burn at the stake”
Well I can assure you, I had no intention
Of grilling or frying at some public convention
And so I did the sensible thing
I skipped off to London and had me a fling.
But this is the point that I want to make
I didn’t deserve to be burned at the stake
Nor is it fair – how folks ME condemn
For simply getting rid of – four useless men!
Now honestly, girls, wouldn’t you do the same
With four silly husbands, driving you insane?
I think it’s wrong, absurd and quite daft
To accuse me, a lady, of all things WITCHCRAFT!
Why it’s crystal clear from my very own name
That I am no hag – but a titled DAME.
Rid of four husbands, all the hardship and hassle
I reckon I’d make a great – “Queen of the Castle”!
